


To Cure What Ails

by all_the_kings_ham



Series: If not for you [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU af, M/M, Road Trip, Stand Alone, destiel up in this, gunna be some butt touching, if you want it to be, maybe some bro bonding, probably a bar fight, side story to a bigger story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-14 15:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_kings_ham/pseuds/all_the_kings_ham
Summary: Dean's just trying to do a favor for his brother





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm all about the side quests, which is all this is.  
> But if you like it can be a stand alone... you know, if you're not into other ships

The sun came up too early this time of year. The house starting to heat up before nine, despite the west facing windows all thrown open and the ceiling fans steadily churning away. Dean could feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine, the back of his neck sticky, as he lay there face down on his bed. Doing his best to hide his eyes from all that damn cheery sunshine.  

He probably had another half hour left in him. Chasing after the tail ends of dreams, numbly planning what he would do with the rest of his uneventful day. The heavy cast on his right arm sort of negated his ability to do anything other than answer the phone in the shop.

… so he had that to look forward to.

The day seemed ready to start with or without him though. His cell phone going off suddenly, jarring him from those last cloudy edges of sleep.

One glance at the caller ID and he was smiling though.

“I need my beauty sleep, Sammy.” Dean mumbled in way of greeting, grinning as he heard his brother’s answering laugh. “This had better be good.”

It wasn’t good though.

The wake up call... was dubious at best.

But being one of the most amazing big brothers on the planet, when asked to get up and drive to roughly the middle of nowhere to help Sam’s co worker with car trouble, Dean went.

Maybe a hour or so drive out to where all that could be seen were fields just about ready to harvest, grazing cattle, and a lonely mid 90’s sedan pulled over on the shoulder near mile marker 102. Dean hopped down from the rattly old tow truck, walking a slow circle around the Toyota that had seen better days. From how it was sitting off kiltered, he’d guess that the axle was broken along with the obvious impact damage to the front passenger side of the car.

“Hey,” Dean raised his voice, looking around the fairly abandoned stretch of road, wondering just where the hell the driver could have gotten off to.

“Yes?” Was hesitantly shouted back from off in the field to his left.

Funny how Sam had made a point to mention that there might be a pie in this for Dean, and also to bring the tow truck- but had somehow forgotten the part about the fact that the guy Dean was being sent out to save might be laying in the alfalfa field on the wrong side of the road, deep in conversation with a sleeping cow that was using his leg as a pillow.

A mess of short dark hair popped up over the gently swaying sea of green as the man sat up, looking around until he found Dean beside the car. “Are you Sam’s brother?”

Sometimes Dean wished that he wasn’t. “That’s what the doctors told me at least.” Then found himself shrugging when the joke was not well received. “Did you… get thrown from the car or what?”

“No.” The man said, and apparently all the talking was disrupting the cow’s nap, because the animal clamored to it’s many feet and wandered a few steps further out into the field to graze. “I was just making sure that Cynthia was alright.”

“... _Cynthia_?”

“The cow.”

Dean stared blankly. That wasn’t someone’s pet cow. It didn’t have a name. Judging by the field of cows that he’d passed about a mile back, and the mark on her flank, the big brown thing was one of James Hosken’s milk cows.

“She looks a Cynthia at least.” And the skinny little guy stood, dusting dirt and plant bits from his clothes with a shrug. “Don’t you think?”

If Sam had mentioned that this Castiel friend was ‘dingos ate my baby’ levels of crazy then Dean might have stayed in bed. Maybe the guy had hit his head though. A little dazed and confused and not as nutty as he seemed.

“Sure,” Dean eased, edging towards the broken fence around the alfalfa. “You doing alright there, Cas?”

The man smiled suddenly, looking away from the cow, towards Dean with this strange little highnote to one corner of his mouth. “Your brother calls me Cas too.”

Well, Dean sure as hell wasn’t going to use the name _Castiel._ Waste of time saying a name that long. “Okie dokie… well, come on up and help me get your car hitched. You’re not going to be driving it out of here.”

In hindsight, the job would have been a lot faster if Dean had done it on his own. Even with his freshly broken hand. Cas asked about a million questions as he ‘helped’. Mostly just standing there holding things while Dean finagled the busted car up onto the tow’s flatbed.

“Do… do I ride in my car,” Castiel looked curiously up at said car. “Or can I ride in the truck with you?”

Dean had to make sure that he wasn’t smiling. “I guess you can ride with me.”

“I’ve never ridden in a tow truck before.” He gave a little nod and wandered over to the passenger side. “I enjoy trying new things.”

An hour in the car with this man might just break Dean. But he could be strong. Be strong for Sam. He pulled himself up into the cab with his good arm and settled in, getting back on the road.

“Do you?” The disheveled man beside him asked after they’d eaten up a few miles of road.

Confused, Dean did his best to keep his eyes on where they were going. “... do I what?”

“Like trying new things?”  He asked like he expected the answer to unravel all the mysteries of the universe. “Because your brother always sits at the same table to study. Always has the same snack, at the same time, while he reads the same books.”

“Sounds like Sam,” and Dean was having a significantly harder time fighting back a smile. He found that he oddly sort of hoped that this guy kept up the weird, because it was kind of amazing. “He’s real serious about school- but he can still let loose sometimes… let his hair down.”

“I’ve… never seen him with his hair up.”

“You’re, uh… a really literal kind of guy, aren’t you?”

The weird little dude looked out the window for a bit, at the incredibly uneventful landscape. “I’ve been told that before, yes.”

What do you say to that?

Nothing.

Dean had absolutely nothing to add to the solid, unashamed statement.

There followed about half an hour of silence that was only tempered by staticy classic rock station struggling to come through the old speakers. Dean idly drummed the fingers of his good hand along the steering wheel.

“I was bringing you pie.” Castiel announced suddenly.

“Yeah?” Dean grinned. This was not news, but it was still nice to hear. “Sam told me it was a special delivery ‘get well’ pie.”

“Cherry.”

The inherent pie lust swelled within him, and Dean bit his lip to try and tone down his grin. “Loves me some cherry pie.”

Suddenly eager and a little curious, the guy turned in his seat to face Dean. “Is it your favorite?”

“Never met a pie I didn’t like.”

“But if you had to pick?”

It was like someone asking him to pick his favorite Stooge, or the best Zeppelin song. Sure, you can narrow the choices down- but ‘best’ was just so reliant on day and mood and a thousand other variables.

“Apple?” He questioned the choice even as he said it, especially after he felt the radiant disappointment from beside him. “But, man, sweet cherry pie is great. One of the best.”

“Then I will have to make you an apple pie this afternoon.” Castiel just decided so quickly. “Do you have all the ingredients at home, or do we need to stop at a store?”

They stopped at a store.

Cas was so freaking excited for the fact that apples he bought from a roadside stand had been picked that morning. Or at least, Dean was choosing to translate that goofy hooded grin into pure joy- because he couldn’t think of a better definition for it.

And maybe seeing as Dean needed to be in the shop to a) work, and b) drop off the dead car… he may have made the decision to just let the weird guy loose in in Bobby’s kitchen. After all, Bobby had a much better stocked kitchen than Dean.

Feeling confident in the decision, he walked from the house (where he’d introduced Cas to the small but tidy kitchen) and out to the garage where he could head the tell tale sounds of his uncle already at work. And as Dean rounded the corner he was surprised to see that the ‘work’ was pulling the cow-battering ram down off the tow truck.

“Hey, I was going to get to that.” He said like an apology, lightly knocking his knee against the truck’s bumper.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bobby didn’t even look up from where he was unhooking the towline. “Heard that one a million times. Driver hit a telephone poll?”

“Cow.”

“Christ. Cow ok?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled, taking the chain from his uncle and rewinding the wench. One of the few things that he could easily do with just the one good arm. “Driver’s ok too.”

“Damn tourists.” Bobby finally looked away from his critical survey of the damage.

South Dakota was… not exactly known for its tourism. But Dean let it go.

“Hope they don’t plan on us actually fixing up this wreck for ‘em. Only thing it’s good for now is parts.”

“We already went over the damage on the drive back here.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow somewhere beneath his baseball cap. “Did _we_? And where did you leave our friend from Massachusetts?”

“In the house.” Dean frowned just a touch.

“You didn’t just bring her to the rent-a-car in town? She must be quite a looker.”

_Ah._

That explained the slight disapproving look he was getting. You undress a few customers over the years and suddenly no one trusts you when you bring one home for honest reasons. What was the world coming to?

“He’s _adorable_ , Bobby. You’ll love him.”  Dean said dryly. Earning himself a small grunt and nod from his uncle which didn’t mean much of anything other than ‘let’s get back to work’. And that was ok. Dean was good at working, or at least he would have been if he didn’t have one arm in a cast.  

So… Bobby went back to work, settling Cas’ wrecked car into the many rows of other junkers. Dean went into the ‘office’ to call up his brother and give a bit of an update. There was no doubt in his mind that his kid brother was sitting around worrying like someone’s grandma.

“Hey.” He grinned into his phone when he heard his brother’s hello. “Sammy, your friend really knows how to total a car. When he gets home see if you can't get him signed up for a destruction derby or something.”

Sam murmured some kind of something under his breath with a sigh. “But Cas is ok, right?”

“Yeah, no. Dude seems kind of off his rocker, but you expect that after an accident like this.”

“How bad is it?”

“Didn’t know a single song or band that we listened to on the ride to the shop. Got way too excited about fresh apples. Said Bobby’s kitchen has a _warm and kind soul_ … you know. Usual head trauma kind of confused and disorganized.”

“... apples? Dean,” and a very familiar warning crept into his tone. “You’re not making him bake you a pie, are you?”

“What _make_? Dude volunteered. I figured, little dazed and confused, something normal and familiar might do him some good.” Only the most honorable intentions over here.

Sam sighed again. And Dean could practically hear his brother rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just… make him take it easy. I mean, everything sounds actually pretty normal for Cas, but he should probably still be taking it easy.”

“Talking about the soul of a kitchen is normal?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of an odd little guy.” Sam chuckled softly. “I did give you a heads up.”

Any heads up that had been given was not enough to have braced Dean for the weird coming off . Which wasn’t to say that Dean didn’t find it all kind of … charming in a surprising sort of way. But if this was ‘normal’ than the guy should come with some kind of warning label just to keep people from worrying that it all came from some kind of excessive head injury.

“Well, odd or not- dude’s not really able to drive himself back home. Rental cars aren’t cheap and I was thinking that I haven't seen your ugly mug in half a year… might do the good samaritan thing and dive little mister crash test dummy back home.”

“No. Dean,”

“Bored out of my mind here, Sammy. Bobby’s got me doing inventory until I get this damn cast off. A few days driving and seeing my favorite brother will do me good.”

“That’s a really long drive, Dean.”

“Day, maybe day and a half if we do some sightseeing.” He could already imagine Castiel demanding that they stop at any and all produce roadside stands along the way, or any fields with livestock... interesting trees and rocks.

But Sam was doing that ‘don’t put yourself out’ and ‘it’s too much trouble’ sort of thing that he always did. “You don’t have to-”

“Hey, if you don’t want to see me, Sammy. You can just come right out and say it. I’m an adult. I can take it.” Dean teased, knowing all the right buttons to push.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to see you, it’s just-”

“Great. Then me and _Julia Childs_ will leave this afternoon.” Dean’s cheeks had started to ache from grinning too much. “Probably be in sometime early tomorrow.”

“...yeah…” Sam still seemed a bit reluctant to get on board with this plan. And it was such a good plan that his lack of faith in it was actually a bit insulting.

“School hasn’t started back up for you yet, so we’ll actually have to time just hang out for a bit.” Like they hadn’t done in what felt like forever. “I’ve missed you, bitch.”

“Missed you too, jerk.” Sam said in a knee jerk kind of way.

It made Dean feel all warm and fuzzy. He understood why Sam had left a few years back. College and all. And his brother had always had a good head on his shoulders. Too smart and too capable to stay in a little town like Sioux Falls for the rest of his life. It was only after some aggressive bargaining that Dean had been able to keep his brother on this coast instead of heading out to some law school back west. A day’s drive away instead of a week- but he still missed his doofy little Sammy something fierce. To go from seeing someone every day of your life for almost twenty years, to only seeing them twice a year, had been a rough transition. “Dude. We can watch Shark Week together, and you can tell me your weenie stories about college life and how you went from working as a manly mechanic to a baker who wears cute little aprons and frosts cupcakes.”

Sam snorted, enjoying the teasing. “Alright.”

“Damn right, alright.” He couldn’t help but laugh too. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The phone got tossed back into its cradle and Dean leaned his heavy cast against the counter. Smiling and waiting for a customer to call in. Happily ignoring the order forms for parts that were waiting on the shelf beside the phone (Bobby still firmly refused to switch over to a computer system). He could stall for time until some fresh apple pie was ready for him. And stalling was about as unexciting as it could get. It was almost a relief when the old man came in an hour later looking like a cat that had been rubbed the wrong way.

“You want to tell me just why in god’s name there’s a squirrely little man, covered in flour, cutting apples in my kitchen?”

“He’s making me an apple pie.” And maybe Dean sounded a bit too eager, even to his own ears, but… you know… _pie_.

“Is this in trade for the tow? Because last I remember the bank wasn’t taking desserts.”

Dean laughed through his nose, doing his best to keep a straight face and not upset Bobby any more than he already was. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as he asked the obvious, “you didn’t actually even talk to him. Did you?”

“No.” The smallest hint of a smile tightened the edges of his tired eyes. “He told me he was busy, and to come back in an hour.”

Which would have been something amazing to witness. Someone telling Bobby to take basically fuck off, in his own house, was not something that many people survived. Dean would have paid money for a front row seat to that one.

Though judging by the fact that the old man was here wearing a confused little frown, instead of back in the house putting the fear of god into Castiel- it meant that the little dark haired baker had kept up that weird charm of his.

It was so rare very unusual for Dean to be the one in the know, instead of Bobby. He couldn’t help but take a moment to just savor it. Bask in the rare occasion because it would probably be years before it happened again. But it was obvious that the other man’s patience was wearing a touch thin, so the basking would have to be cut short.

“He’s Sammy’s boss.” At least that was how Dean understood it. “Apparently he heard about my little mishap at the bar and decided out of the goodness of his heart to bring me a get well pie.”

“Pretty sure he could have saved himself a car and just passed the delivery work off to FedEx.”

That was true.

But Dean wasn’t complaining. He’d already eaten about a third of the cherry pie that had been brought to him while he’d waited for Castiel to pick out his groceries. Sure, it had gotten a bit shaken up in the crash, and maybe not as pretty as it would have been otherwise, but it was quite possibly the best damn amazing cherry pie that he’d ever had the joy of introducing to his mouth. And that prize pastry was waiting for him back in the fridge, soon to be kept company by one, possibly two apple pies.

Maybe Cas’ car had seen better days- but for Dean everything was coming up roses. Pie flavored roses.

Apparently connecting the man, who was making a mess of things, to Sam was more than enough to satisfy whatever concerns Bobby was having about a stranger in his kitchen. And if there was any lingering doubt it all got pushed under the rug as Cas brought lunch down to the shop.

Bobby was tough as nails, but there was no peace offering quite like two BLTs. And as if like magic, the old man drifted in wiping his hands on a rag, summoned by the scent of bacon.

“The pies are in the oven.” If Castiel noticed or was bothered by the fact that he had flour all down his left cheek and somehow in his hair, then it didn’t show. “I thought that you two might be ready for lunch.”

Dean was at a loss. Not sure what to do other than take the offered plate of toasted sandwich shaped love that smelled like heaven.

Bobby knew what to say though. “Son, you’re welcome in my house any time. But you best have cleaned up that mess you were making or I’ll kick your scrawny ass.” Taking his own plate and walking off to eat somewhere in peace.

Apparently that was more than thanks enough, because Cas was suddenly blinking after the old man with a confused and overly happy little smile on his face. “He called me ‘son’.”

“He does that.”

Cas’ hint of a smile stayed firmly in place.

“Men like men who make them sandwiches.” It was just one of those things that wasn’t worth fighting.

“And pie.” Cas easily added to the list, turning that strange little smile on Dean.

Oh, and that made him feel oddly uncomfortable. If Cas was a girl then Dean would have considered that flirting ...of some kind. Even as a strange, squirrely little guy it might have been flirting. But this here is the guy who apparently had never heard of Metallica, so it was possible that he also didn’t know what flirting was… _or_ maybe he’d figured out that Sam liked men and just assumed that his big brother did too.

Not that Dean did… though technically he didn’t _not_ either. Because maybe men weren't his regular thing but he’d still straddled that side of the fence once or twice ...or five times. There were just some people that he’d met who were just so god damned amazing that what was in their pants hadn’t really mattered to him.

... and then he realized he was way over thinking everything.

The man had brought him a sandwich.

Nothing at all more than that.

Dean did his best to smile back and not be too weird about it. “I’m gunna have a nice talk with this sandwich here. Why don’t you go up to the house, Cas. Get cleaned up. Maybe change clothes. Take a nap. Relax for a bit until I can get stuff squared away here. Then I’m going to drive you home.”

His eyes went wide, showing off the bluest eyes that had ever been blue. Fixing them on Dean with an uncomfortably level of intensity. “Oh. No. I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s a whole day’s drive.”

With a shrug and a big bite of sandwich, Dean said, “wanted to go see my brother anyhow.” Though with the mouthful of food the words came out a little muffled.

It didn’t make much of a difference. Castiel seemed to understand the sentiment and just stood there watching Dean like he was some sort of champion to car wreck survivors.

An unsettling kind of attention that made Dean squirm. “Come on, man. Go back to the house and take a load off. You’ve had a rough day.” _Let me eat this kingly sandwich in peace._

“I’m usually up at five in the morning and baking until noon.” He looked down at his hands and seemed to notice for the first time that they were covered in flour. Hastily dusting them off on his pants that weren't much cleaner, he said with the smallest frown, “today I’ve only made two pies… it’s actually been fairly relaxing.”

“I meant the whole car accident thing.”

“Oh. Right.” And he managed to look a little sheepish. “That was a bit upsetting.”

“Go on.” Dean nodded towards the shop’s window where he could see the house off through the trees. “I’ll come get you when it’s time to leave.”

With a soft thank you and one of those weird little crooked smiles, Castiel made his way back to Bobby’s house to presumably watch pies and hopefully sleep off whatever little bumps and lumps he’d gotten when he’d smashed his car into Cyntia the cow.

Being left alone with his delightful sandwich and some confusing thoughts, Dean was happy to get back to a little bit of solitude before committing himself to a twentyfour hour car ride with Captain Socially Awkward.

The things he was willing to do for his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that some of you are rally enjoying the different tone of this story. It's always a goal of mine to keep the right voice when writing. I sort of love things from Dean's perspective. He's such a good man with such good intentions and consistently bad results  
> And Cas is a treat <3

The cassettes rattled around in the old beaten shoe box as Castiel dug deep. “How can you tell any of these apart?”

“They’ve got names on ‘em.”

“Written in some of the worst handwriting I’ve ever seen.”

Dean bore his teeth and kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Yeah, well, you’ve still got flour in your hair.”

Picking one seemingly at random, he popped open the case and clumsily slid the cassette into the tape deck. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”  

Music started playing, sounding a little tinny on the speakers that Dean had been meaning to replace because he’d blown out one of them around the beginning of summer while drinking late at night down at the levey after a rather unpleasant break up with a lovely girl that he’d rather forget about. He instantly started drumming his hands against the steering wheel, matching the heavy base line and feeling his spirits lifting.

“Got to admit, I had my doubts about you.” Dean said with a smile. “But you picked good music, so we’re probably going to be ok.”

“I have no idea what we’re listening to.” Cas didn’t even attempt to lie. It would have been kind of charming if his response wasn’t so stunningly horrifying. “Someone wrote ‘Roung Slures Atturmat’ on the tape… but I’m not too confident in the interpretation.”

Risking a sharp glance away from the road for just a moment, Dean gave the man beside him a long, hard look. “Are you fucking serious?”

Folding his arms, Cas looked out his window. “You’re the one with the bad handwriting.”

“It’s The Rolling Stones, man. This is Aftermath. It’s one of their best albums.”

Cas gave Dean a solid amount of side eye but offered nothing.

“Come on. You’ve got to know The Stones.”

But there wasn’t any more recognition now than there had been back in the tow truck when Metallica had come on. 

It pained something deep inside Dean. “Alright. Sit yourself down. We’ve got a long drive and I’m going to educate the hell out of you.”

There were some vague protests about the fact that they were both already sitting. Protests that Dean ignored as he gave a brief history of classic rock, paired with musical examples (that were slow coming as he had to blindly help the other man look through the box of tapes each time, both of them guessing at the titles that Cas couldn’t read and Dean wasn’t looking too closely at because he was driving), that got them from Sioux falls to about halfway through Iowa. 

He pulled his car into a gas station and stopped beside a pump, turning off the ignition and stretching his arms above his head, knuckles brushing the ceiling. “We might have to stop one more time before Ohio.”

“... what happens in Ohio?” Castiel turned away from the grand view of nothing that the outside had to offer, tilting his head at Dean in a weirdly owlish kind of way. 

“We sleep.” He chuckled softly, undoing his seatbelt and popping the door open. As much as Dean loved driving it was still almost twenty hours worth of highway until they got to their destination, and he was human, with human weaknesses like the need for sleep. “I’ve done this drive out and back two or three times a year since Sammy got into college. Don’t worry. I know where the best cheap motels are.”

“O-ok.” 

Dean shook his head, stepping out into the dry summer afternoon, tugging his wallet from his pocket as he walked inside to give a crumpled twenty to the bored looking cashier. Thoughtless movements, easing through the beginning steps of filling up his car’s gas tank- only to be very disrupted once he came back outside to see Cas sitting with his legs dangling out the passenger side of the car, pie in his lap, eating with small, purposeful bites.

“Hey now. Isn’t that supposed to be mine for rescuing you?”  Dean had sort of been planning on pie for dinner. Not that he still couldn’t. The man had eaten less than a slice before getting caught.

“You probably can’t, or at least shouldn’t, eat three pies all on your own, Dean.” The littlest edge of his tongue darted out to catch crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “And I don’t think I’ve eaten since yesterday. I need a few bites at least.”

That gave Dean a moment’s pause, sort of missing a step as he fumbled the with the pump. He wasn’t positive on the exact time of day now, but it was well after lunchtime. Hell, the man had even made lunch  _ for _ Dean and Bobby. But he hadn’t managed to get food for himself? 

Yeah. This wasn’t going to work for him. 

He finished gassing up the car and went back into the little convenience store, returning for a second time with a plastic wrapped, pre made roast beef sandwich that looked passable, two protein bars, and an overly large bottle of water. He took the pie from Cas and dumped the rest of the food in his lap.

“I…” the strange little guy looked up with those bluer than blue eyes of his. “Thank you, but I can’t-”

“Dude, you need  _ real _ food.” Because as far as Dean was concerned low blood sugar might be the cause of at least half this man’s weirdness- ignoring Sam’s assurances that this was all pretty par for the course. 

“I don’t eat meat though.”

“You don’t…?” naturally he didn’t. Dean sighed and took the sandwich for himself. Glad that he’d grabbed a few other things as well. If he’d had to go back a third time the cashier might have started asking odd questions. “Fine. I’ll take the sinful meat sandwich. But you eat the rest. I don’t want you passing out on me or something. Sam will give me hell if I don’t bring you back in good condition.”

“I find it very touching just how much Sam worries. Especially considering that I’m not family.” Cas tucked himself back into the car, almost too eagerly opening a protein bar and taking a careful bite. “But it’s probably Nick that you would need to worry about if something did happen to me.”

Dean chewed his lower lip in thought as he pulled the car back out onto the highway. “Nick’s your brother… or boy… friend?”

“My brother.” Castiel cleared up without missing a beat, not noticeably bothered by the alternative suggestion. “Him and I would not be compatible for any other kind of relationship I think.”

“Don’t get along well with him?” 

“There are two types of people in this world, Dean.” The last of his protein bar vanished into his mouth and Cas chewed in a way that seemed almost like he was counting the amount of chews as he went. Which couldn’t be proved, but he was very actually for certain carefully folding up the crinkly plastic wrapper from his meal into perfect fourths before tucking it into a pocket. “There are those of us who use coasters for their drinks and those who don’t.”

Choking down a bark of laughter, Dean struggled not to grin too widely. “And you’re the first kind I’m guessing.”

“Condensation can ruin a perfectly good antique desk top.” He briefly struggled to unscrew the top of his water bottle. “Nick has a certain disregard for the sanctity of other people’s furniture that I find disturbing-”

Dean reached over and took the stubborn bottle, tucking it between his knees as he drove. The cap came off with a protesting sound of plastic and he handed the stupid thing back.

“Thank you.” The other man mumbled a little awkwardly before taking a sip. “Nick does try to be a good brother, though I think he’s been a bit too overprotective since…” and for someone who didn’t seem to hesitate about anything, it was an uncomfortable sort of something that was left unsaid. “He keeps a close eye on me.” Castiel finished quietly before taking another sip and screwing the cap back on. 

As an overprotective big brother himself (as well as someone who found coaster to be a waste of time), Dean didn’t see anything wrong the faults listed.  “Not for nothing, but if Sam was driving over like eight state lines in the middle of the night to give pies to strangers, I’d probably be getting a little protective too.”

Unexpectedly, Cas countered with, “your can’t be a stranger. I know too much about you.”

“... do you now?” And knowing that any information given had to have come from Sam, this could either be a good thing or a very bad thing. 

“In the time that I’ve known him, Sam has yet to run out of stories to tell about you.” He found again the box of cassettes from the floor and started leafing through them, but with more purpose than he had earlier in the afternoon. “I think that my favorite was the one when you and him were small and you took him to the lake before dawn to teach him how to fish so you could make breakfast for your uncle- and the boat ended up capsizing and you almost drowned and he had to drag you to shore.”

“Ok,” despite the fact that the near death experience had happened to him over twenty years ago, he still remembered with crystalline clarity.  “But did he tell you that he was the one who tipped the boat over in the first place because he was trying to get away from the fish that he’d caught?”

Selecting a tape and putting it in the deck with a strange level of respect that he hadn’t had before their history lesson, Cas cast him a doubtful look. “... he said that you were the one who knocked you both in the water.”

“Nah, man. It was all him, freaking out because the trout touched his leg. And he didn’t pull me to shore, I carried him on my back and he kept shoving my head under the water the whole way.”

“It’s nicer how he tells it.”

Dean shook his head, caught somewhere between fuming and laughing. “ ‘m sure it is. What other lies has Sammy been you telling about me?”

A simple question which lead to a seemingly never ending story time that took them well on past the halfway point in their road trip. The sun set in the rearview mirror, casting long shadows out before them that, no matter how fast Dean drove, he could never seem to pass up. In time headlights replaced the sun as Cas told Dean his own life’s story. Told it all with such clarity and excitement it was almost flattering. Dean only wished that he didn’t have to shoot so many holes in pretty much every story told to him. 

Either Sam’s memory was shoddy, Cas hadn’t listened to the initial tale all that well, or simply Sam had been embellishing their shared childhood in unexpectedly amazing ways.

Dean found himself grinning right on into Ohio.

Mid explanation on how Sam had been involved in a high school play and Dean had spent most of afternoons running lines with his younger brother all while doing car repairs (multitasking like a champ, if he did say so himself)- Cas’s slightly rough voice faded. He strained against his seatbelt, leaning forward to look up through the windshield.

“We’re stopping again?”

“Dude, it’s almost one in the morning. I’m tired.”

He turned those saucer like eyes of his from the welcoming glow of the ‘open all night’ sign to gaze directly into Dean’s soul. “This is a restaurant.”

Seeing as he’d stopped the car and put it in neutral, there was really no good reason to not make polite eye contact while the man was talking to him, Dean turned in his seat. He was exhausted and not at all braced for any kind of intensity- which was unfortunate since it seemed that this man beside him only had one way of looking at people. 

And that way was with all the intensity of a thousand suns.

Polite eye contact be damned. Dean undid his seatbelt and beat a hasty retreat, talking over his shoulder as he went, “yeah, it’s a restaurant. I’m hungry, and trust me, this place is amazing. Your stomach will thank you.”

Not an actual guarantee there, but Castiel seemed like a fairly trusting kind of guy and he followed Dean all the same. They found their own table, an easy selection in the restaurant that was mostly empty aside from a few bleary eyed long haul looking types, and a small cluster of red eyed teens who were super into their plates of french fries and reeked of pot.

A tired looking waitress brought them two coffees and two slightly sticky, laminated menus. With a nod and a almost genuine looking smile, she promised to be back in a few.  

Dean was actually good to order right then and there. He’d known what he wanted to eat before he stepped foot in the joint because he always ordered the exact same food every time he passed through- but he thought he’d do the courteous thing and give Cas a moment to look things over. 

Now that they were out of the car though it looked like the late hour had officially caught up with the dark haired man, and for a comically long period of time all that he seemed to do was blink down at the food selection with zero recognition in his eyes. His lips were moving though, and with a small smile, Dean realized that this man here was reading himself the menu.

And it was probably just the late hour, but he found it hard to shrug off just how weird, how charmingly weird, this guy here was.  

“What can I get you boys?” Their waitress had snuck up on them before Dean could do the right thing and offer a bit of help to his traveling companion. 

“Cheeseburger, please.” Castiel said through a yawn, politely handing back his menu.

It was Dean’s turn to blink, a bit surprised at the apparent decision that had been made in silence. But he added on, “same for me,” and made sure not to call her ‘sweetheart’ because she didn’t look the the kind of woman who wasn’t interested in any kind of nonsense from him.

The waitress, her name tag said Kelly, nodded while tucking menus beneath an arm and bushing some loose hair back up into her bun. Her nail polish was chipped, her sandy colored hair peppered with white. She probably had a great laugh when she it wasn’t the middle of the night and she’d been on her feet for hours. “Have that out for you boys in a bit.”

“Could I trouble you for an herbal tea?” Cas spoke up before she could get too far away.

And with a smile that said more ‘tired’ than ‘happy’, Kelly nodded. “Sure thing, hon.”

“Tea and burgers?” Dean grinned once they were left alone.

With a sleep deprived movement that only trembled a lot, Castiel scrubbed a hand through his hair, somehow making it even more of a mess than it had been since Dean found him. “If I have coffee I’ll never be able to sleep… and I’d really like to sleep.”

“Past your bedtime, old man?”

“I’m only twentyfive, and yes. I’m usually in bed by nine, so this is well past late for me.”

Nine was a comically early bedtime, but Dean kept that to himself. “You could have gone to sleep in the car, man.”

“I was enjoying the conversation.” He yawned again, picking up a little pink sugar packet and lightly flicking it with the fingers of his other hand.  Didn’t seem to have anything in mind to do with the sweetener other than tap it rhythmically with the back of an index finger. “You have a rather disarming laugh.”

Not a fact that anyone had ever mentioned to Dean before… and even now he wasn’t entirely positive what the words meant, but he decided to take them as a complement? Smiling at the man sitting across from him who looked like he was already well past half asleep. 

Food came kind of quick, theirs was probably the only order in the kitchen. Not a lot of competition this time of night. 

Grinning at the waitress, Dean scooted his coffee aside, making room on the table for his burger and fries. He thanked her and happily tucked in, because for the last three hours of driving it had felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself. 

Any conversation that they might have had was put on hold for a few minutes while they ate in content silence. Until-

“Hold up,” Dean chipmunked his mouthful of food, mumbling around the cheekful. “Aren’t you a vegetarian?”

The look shot over Cas’ half eaten burger was nothing short of shameless. “I really like cheese burgers, so they don’t count.”  

Dean wasn’t certain of a lot of things, though the fact that that might not be how vegetarianism worked was definitely one of them. They  _ really _ were good burgers though. One of the reasons that Dean stopped here every time he came out of visit Sam. So he left the carnivorous misstep where it was. Something that would stay between him and Cas and the chipped coffee cups.

“ ‘s good, right?”

A rhetorical question, because the food was beyond good and into kind of life changingly amazing status, but the other man got a small frown between his eyebrows and he looked critically to the last few bites of food between his hands. 

“The ones I make at home are better,” he decided finally. “But these are a passable second.”

Anyone else and Dean would have just brushed it off as joking or boasting- but Cas just didn’t come off as that sort of guy. Not proud... and not with any recognisable sense of humor.

“Yeah?” Dean finished off his last few bites before investigating the over salted wedge fries that he’d been ignoring. “You gunna make burgers for me when we get back to your place?”

“... if you like?” 

Dean grinned, enjoying the very uncertain offering. “Dude, I’ll take you shopping for a new car, make sure you get something good, and the salesman doesn’t take you for a ride- and you make me burgers.” An even trade as far as he was concerned. Everybody got something good.

Licking grease from his fingers, Cas looked down at his mostly empty plate, thinking this over with the kind of care that was usually reserved for large business deals- not a few all beef patties.

“Your Sam told me that you know even more about cars than he does,” 

An understatement if there ever was one. Muffing a quiet snerk with a bite of potato, Dean just nodded. 

“Well, then I’ll trust your expertise, as long as my new car can be blue.”

“Blue?”

“I think it will make it easier to find in parking lots.”

Keeping a straight face was harder than it should have been. “Do… you lose your car sometimes?” 

“More often than I should, according to Nick.” And the smile that he offered Dean was hardly more than a twitch of his lips. “... but if you will help me find an easy to find blue car then I will be happy to make you burgers that are heavy with the weight of unrealistically high expectations.” 

Dean was cracking, doing his best to hide a smile behind his coffee cup. “I think maybe you’re getting a little loopy there, chief.”

“Didn’t I do that right?” He tilted his head like he was listening to secrets hidden in the white noise chatter from the other tables. “My brother always makes up stories for the food that I make. Says they grant wishes, or will make people taller, help them win the lottery … my favorite was when he once said that the chocolate raspberry cookies I make can turn little wooden puppets into real boys.”

And there was probably a joke in there somewhere, but Dean’s tired mind couldn’t find the right direction. “I don’t know about all that, but I’d settle for the best burgers I’ve ever eaten- if you think you can manage.”

“I have very few marketable skills,” he admitted with the same hint of a smile. “But I will keep you fed.”

Laughing, Dean pushed away from the table, very ready to get himself to the motel and bed. “You know the fastest way to a man’s heart.”

“Yes. Through the fourth and fifth rib.” Cas took a long sip of his tea before getting up. “Same for women too actually- I’ve always thought that saying was oddly sexest and not inclusive.”

Resisting the urge to just pat that man’s rough looking cheeks like you would with a child, Dean shook his head. Pulling out his wallet he headed towards the little podium thing beside the door.

“Be with you in a sec, hon.” Came the disembodied voice of Kelly from somewhere in the kitchen.

Turning to look back at Cas, Dean felt his chest go tight. Shoulder to shoulder and almost nose to nose, the proximity was a bit much. “Dude. Personal space?”

With a confused narrowing of his gaze, Castiel looked down at the roughly two inches between them before taking a very small step back. “Sorry… when I passed this way yesterday it was middle of the afternoon.”

“Alright?”

“I think I’d like to go out and look at the stars if you don’t mind. I hear that they are easier to see out here in the countryside.” 

“Go for it,”  _ you weirdo _ . “I’ll meet you at the car once I’ve paid the bill.”

And even though he hadn’t asked, the other man pulled out a ten and handed it over for his side of the meal before shoving his hands down into his pockets and heading out the door. Maybe… just maybe, Dean watched him go. That tucked in, button up shirt, and those so-clean-they-might-be-new jeans certainly weren't hiding anything. Nice square shoulders, narrow hips, cute little ass, and some reasonably long legs. It was a shame that such nicely arranged packaging held such a strange bundle of man. 

Maybe almost five minutes later Kelly came over to him with an air of apology. “Sorry ‘bout that. Small emergency in the back.”

“Everything alright?”

“Little kitchen fire,” she lowered her voice to a hush, glancing at the few other patrons who were one hundred percent not paying them any mind at all. “We got a new gal helping out back there. She’s studying for classes on breaks and left her text book too close to the grill. Little more excitement than I like this time of night, but everyone’s still in one piece.”

Dean shook his head, but felt himself smiling sympathetically. “My kid brother did that once. I think you’re handling it better than fourteen year old me did.”

“I’ve got three boys of my own,” and for the first time her smile was open and honest, lighting up her whole face. “This isn’t my first kitchen fire.”

He didn’t see a wedding ring on her finger, and if he didn’t have a squirrely little guy waiting for him outside then Dean might have asked when she got off work.  _ Might have _ . As it was, he made small talk while she rung up the two burgers, smiling and joking about the dangers of kids and kitchens. 

In the end Dean managed to leave the diner with a friendly “you have a good night, hon,” following him out the door. It made him feel rather accomplished. 

The parking lot was looked lonely. Three big rigs parked off to the side, huddled together like old friends. A beat up, mid nineties Toyota Tercel with a badly oxidized paint job. A sleek Chevy Impala that stood out like a classy looking shadow- and very noticeably no sign of any wide eyed, half asleep bakers. 

Frowning, Dean circled his car, wondering just where the hell Cas had gotten off to in a parking lot, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around them aside from the dark storefronts of a gas station, two bars, and a cash for gold type place. 

“I told you already,” a now familiar rough voice carried on the stale night air. “I don’t have any money on me.”

Dean turned around quickly, looking at empty streets and the alley ways between buildings, trying to figure out what direction the words had been coming from. 

“I promise the watch is really very bottom of the line-” Cas was explaining himself without a hint of fear, though there was something definitely wrong with what was going on just out of range.  “You wouldn’t be able to pawn it for much money- and I would prefer to hold onto it for sentimental reasons.”

Quickly making his way towards the parked semi trucks, Dean was finally able to hear another voice answering, “just hand over the fucking watch, bitch.” 

“Does your mother know that you’re out so late and using language like that?”

And Dean would have laughed at Castiel’s answer if he didn’t find himself breaking into a sprint, worry and dread heavy in his gut. He rounded the edge of the diner in time to see the silhouettes of four people gathered on the far side of the trucks, out of sight from the road and the front of the diner. One of the figures was backed up against the wheel of a semi, the others crowding around far too close.

Before Dean had a chance to shout words that would have been vague and threatening -there was a glint of something pale and sharp among the half circle of strangers and then all hell broke lose. The person backed up against the truck (who Dean had only guessed to be Cas judging by the circumstances) suddenly threw a hard right hook, sending one of the men reeling. The next guy got a knee to the stomach and something metal sounding went clattering across the pavement before he was also knocked hard across the jaw and dropped like a sack of bricks. Guy number three got grabbed by the face and headbutted with enough force that he crumpled to the ground- all before Dean could run the last few yards across the parking lot.

Guy number one was coming back around, shaking himself off in time to see his buddies both hitting the ground. He tucked tail and fled. It was probably the only smart thing that he’d done the whole night.

And Dean was close enough to see that indeed it was Cas who had come out swinging, breath a little ragged, but not like he was winded. More just riding an adrenalin high as he backed himself into the truck once more. Seeming to take an uneasy comfort in something solid at his back as he surveyed the two injured men at his feet. The remaining thugs were both trying to collect themselves, scrambling after their fleeing friend, stumbling past Dean who was kind of shocked to see that their faces were the faces of young twenty somethings, maybe even late teens. Bloody and stunned as they left the scene of their unsuccessful mugging.

“Cas. Hey, you alright?” A question to which Dean knew the answer, but honestly had no idea what else to say.

Blood flecked his shirt around the collar, everything slightly untucked and wrong. Looking up slowly from knuckles that were dark and wet, Cas turned bright eyes towards Dean. The underside of his nose down to his chin smeared with blood. It only meant that the men must have hit Castiel a bit before Dean had found them, because from his vantage point the bastards hadn’t been fast enough to form any kind of retaliation once their innocent little target turned on them.

A weird kind of protectiveness rocked Dean as he looked at this injured man who’d been trusted to his care. Misplaced as any feeling that he’d ever had, seeing as obviously the situation had been well in hand without any help from him. All the same. 

Two things happened then.

First,  Cas spoke directly to him, blood on his teeth and a worried frown catching the edges of his lips in an unexpected way. “Did you remember to leave a tip for the waitress?”

Second, Dean fell in love- though it would be years before he realized what to call the feeling or how thoroughly it was going to complicate his life.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this for like... a month, waiting for the other story to catch up so that the timelines didn't get all weird.
> 
> Don't think I've ever written from our little Cas' point of view before, and I've got to say it was a treat <3

_ Hey _

_ figured that you needed some new music to go with your new car _

_ here are some of the songs you liked and a couple extras that might be up your alley _

_ let me know if you like them.  _

_ I’ll send you another tape if you want. Like being  _ ~~_ pin _ ~~ _ penpalls or whatever _

- _ Dean _

It took reading and rereading the letter maybe a dozen times before Castiel could make any kind of sense of the slanted, overcrowded letters. The note had been stuffed into the plastic cassette case along with a tape that had been named something truly mysterious that seemed to say ‘STVTT TO U’STENNN TO IN TL- CAV’ and he didn’t have a single guess for that one. 

He turned the little crumpled envelope over and over again in his hands, looking for further explanation to come tumbling out in the form of a secondary note. No such luck. 

“Nick,” he came out of the kitchen, clutching the unexpected and strange gift to his chest. “I’m going to go sit in my car for a few minutes.”

His older brother turned away from the customer he was helping to give him a complicated look before nodding slowly. “Sure?”

And Castiel wasn’t looking for permission so much as he just wanted to make sure that if anyone needed him that they would know where to go looking. 

“Everything ok?” Nick pressed as he handed change back to the woman at the counter.

“Yes.” He promised and left through the front door, walking out across the parking lot and settling into the blue car that still felt unfamiliar to him in many ways. Oddly though there was something nostalgic about the  _ click-tch _ sound that the tape made as he fed it into the deck. Aside from the hours spent in Dean’s car a few weeks back, Castiel hadn’t even seen a tape player since grade school. 

He was greeted by soft tumbling guitar notes and flute, shortly joined by a broken sounding man singing a haunting story. Something about it was beautiful in a way that he hadn’t been expecting and very quickly he became utterly lost to the music. 

Doing his best to concentrate, Castiel closed his eyes and took in each musical selection in turn, wondering what made them special enough to have been chosen for this tape. Some songs he recognised from the long car ride with Dean; ones that he vaguely remembered commenting positively on. Most of them were new to him though.

New and individually bewitching because they’d all been hand chosen specifically for him.

“Hey,” Nick knocking loudly on the passenger side window was probably the most jarring thing that had happened in Castiel’s entire life. “You sure you’re ok, Cassy?” His brother asked against the glass.

Mouth feeling tight in what he didn’t mean to be a frown, Castiel leaned across the seats and unlocked the other door. The music was turned down a few notches as Nick joined him, an odd wave of self consciousness eating at him. 

“If you’re here who’s watching the shop?”

“No one.” Nick’s knees butted up against the glove box as he folded himself into the seat. “We’re closed. You’ve been out here for a couple hours.”

_ Oh _

“Did… did you want help cleaning up or anything?”

Nick waved it off, meaning that he’d already done all those end-of-day things that needed to get done, like he usually did. “You could have just gone home if you needed some time alone.”

“What? No. I’m fine.”  

“Ok, but you’re a really bad liar, Cassy.”

Folding and unfolding his hands before resting them in his lap and very pointedly finding his inner calm, he looked over at his brother. “Nick, if I said that I am fine it's because I’m  _ fine _ . A little faith from you that I know my own moods would be appreciated.”

Teeth dimpling the inside of his cheek, he frowned. “You’re sitting in your car, listening to the radio and crying. If this is the new definition of  _ fine _ then color me surprised.”

“I’m not crying.”

His brother just stared him down for a few seconds too long before reaching over and lightly running a thumb over the arch of his cheek bone and pulling back to show the slight gleam of moisture against his skin.

A wave of nausea hit Castiel as all that self consciousness came back tenfold. He turned his face away, looking out the driver’s side window and took a very frantic catalog of the emotions that he needed to get back in order.

“If you were anyone else I’d assume you were drunk, pregnant, or going through a bad break up- but this is you, and fuck me if I can think of a good reason for you out here getting all weepy over ZZ Top.”

“It was the song that came on before this one.” He blinked away whatever that lingering something was that had made his eyes warm and his chest tight. “It was particularly moving.” He turned back to his brother, challenging him with the most defiant expression he could manage.

_ “Was it _ ?” 

“Yes. It was.” To prove his point, he hit rewind on the tape deck and shared the song with his rather stunned looking brother.

“Wait a second. Wait a goddamned second. I’ve known you your entire life, and aside from NPR or audiobooks you don’t listen to anything in your car and now you’re trying to tell me that you’ve got your very own mix tape that you’ve been out here getting all… is this Pink Floyd? You’re telling me that you were getting weepy out here over fucking  _ Wish You Were Here _ ?”

“I found both the music and the message to be particularly sentimental. The same for the song about the woman buying her way into heaven.”

Nick repeated those last words back in a confused sort of whisper, he eyebrows low and his expression dark. “ _ Stairway to Heaven _ ?”

“I don’t know the names of most of the songs, but that sounds like a likely title. Yes.”

Nick pressed a hand to his eyes and seemed to be counting to himself. “Have I told you recently just how weird you are?”

“Not since last Wednesday, no.”

“I love you. You know that right? But it is not easy being your brother sometimes.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that you don’t have a brother like mine.” Castiel said dryly, turning the key and feeling the car’s engine come to life. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be able to take it.” Nick cocked a half smile as he pulled on his seat belt, not really bothering to ask why or where they were going . “I don’t have your kind of patience to deal with a jackass like your big brother.”

“Few people do.”

“You’re a Saint.” 

“You know that he actually thinks that he’s funny?”

“Your brother does?”

“Oh, he thinks that he’s hilarious. It’s very unfortunate.”

“You put up with so much, Saint Castiel. They will one day resurrect a monument to your unwavering love and patience to us undeserving few.”

“I think you mean construct… or erect… not  _ resurrect _ .”

“Smart ass.”

“Verbally inferior.” He countered as he drove his way uptown away from the cozy little shops and century old homes. “Speaking of unearned patience when it comes to dealing with you- was Sam able to convince you to go out socially?”

“... _ socially _ ? What is this, the 1950s?”

“You want me to be more direct? I can be more direct, Nick.”

His brother looked oddly expectant at this offer.

“Did Sam get up the courage to come clean about his attraction to you?”

The noise that Nick made might have been a laugh. “Oh, if he didn’t this here would sure be one hell of a way to find out.”

“That means yes.” Castiel translated for his own benefit. “Good. I like Sam. He helps balance you out.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that, but I don’t know what it means, so…”

“He’s a nice man with an even temper. Which is more than any of us can say about your last nine boyfriends.”

“You’ve been keeping track?”

“I’ve been keeping a scrapbook.”  Castiel could joke too, and much like his brother’s off timed jokes, his own seemed to alway be as badly received. 

Nick didn’t laugh, or even crack much of a smile. He just folded his arms over his chest and looked out at the passing cars and traffic lights.

“I like this one though- and don’t do that thing where you ask if I like his so much why aren’t I dating him.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“You usually do.”

“Yeah, but he’s mine now.”

As far as Castiel knew 'a date' and only a date had been Sam’s plan. “Your’s?”

“mmm… you remember how when we were younger Gabe would lick desserts to claim them as his own?”

“Are you telling me that… you licked Sam?”

Nick really did laugh this time, teeth flashing in a grin. Shrugging like he wasn’t going to even try to defend himself against the accusation.

“Did you at least get his permission first?”

Nick only laughed harder.

“That was a serious question. Sam’s not a cupcake, you do have to ask first.”

“And that right there is exactly why you don’t date… are we getting office supplies?” He leaned forward in his seat, looking up at the store front that they were parking beside.

“I need to buy a pen.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
